Presumptions
by nocturnefaure
Summary: Sam may be presumptuous in a lot of situations. But not when it comes to formalities like how to address your boss.


Title: Presumptions

Summary:

A/N: This includes an erotic continuation I wrote of TartanLioness' _Presumptions,_ and the entire story is published here with her permission.

She would just like to make it very clear that, despite a similar setting, this is NOT a continuation of _Duty-bound_. 

* * *

It was already darkening out when Foyle finished dictating the last of the chapter they had been working on. Startled, he glanced at his wristwatch.

"Seems I've kept you here far past dinnertime," he said drily to the woman sitting across the table. Sam looked up from her typing, grinning slightly.

"It's all right, I don't mind."

"Well," he conceded, "At least let me make you a bit of dinner?" Rewarded with Sam's bright smile, he decided to offer to feed her more often. He'd enjoyed spending time with her like this; at his house, relaxed, Sam in casual clothes and with her hair down (in more ways than one). Seeing her frustration at the typewriter, he had learned that she wasn't really as proficient a typist as she'd claimed, and for some reason he hadn't cared. It might take him twice as long to finish his book—but he got to spend time with her. And while she had always seemed comfortable with him, she now appeared to be completely at ease in his company and their conversation was effortless.

"Ooh, I'd be delighted, sir!"

Except for that. He didn't know why it bothered him now—it never had before—but for all their familiarity with each other, she was still calling him 'sir'. Not constantly, but enough. Somehow he'd expected her to begin using his given name or at least 'Mr. Foyle' on her own, but she never had.

He smiled at her, saying, "Let's call it a day, then." He stood and went to the kitchen to prepare their meal while she covered the typewriter, stacking the freshly typed papers neatly on the table next to it.

After a few minutes, she joined him. "Can I help?" she asked, turning on the wireless and swaying softly to the music.

"No, you relax," he replied, noticing how at ease she seemed in his kitchen. In his whole house, he realised suddenly. He expected it to be uncomfortable; expected to feel like a breach of his privacy. It didn't. Instead he enjoyed watching her putter around his kitchen, humming softly to herself as she set the table.

"It's not much," he said as he placed the skillet on the table between their settings. Having no meat in the house, he'd opted for a simple vegetable omelette, using powdered eggs.

"Looks mouth-watering," Sam replied, a ravenous look on her face. Foyle chuckled. 

* * *

"That was delicious," Sam sighed happily as she lay down her cutlery.

"Good," Foyle smiled slightly. "I'm glad you liked it. So, are you enjoying your new work?"

"Not really. It's not nearly as interesting as police work, I'm afraid," Sam lamented, thinking about her library work. Then she grinned. "And the people aren't nearly as nice as at the station, sir."

There it was again. That blasted 'sir'. Foyle sighed.

"You don't work for me anymore, Sam. You could call me Christopher."

Sam blushed and looked down. "I didn't want to appear presumptuous."

"Well, you're not my driver anymore…"

"I know," Sam interrupted ruefully. Foyle gave her a sympathetic, but amused, look.

"We've had a private dinner, we're alone and you're off duty and not in uniform. By all means, go ahead and _be_ presumptuous."

Sam looked up at him thoughtfully. There were times over the years and particularly in these last few weeks when she'd seen something in his eyes; something that had given her hope that maybe, just maybe, he could return the feelings she had for him. That look was in his eyes now, something tender and… longing?

She hadn't dared to believe that he really did feel something for her beyond the natural protection and affection he would have for any young woman under his command, but now she made a quick decision. Rising swiftly, she closed the distance between them in a few steps, delighted to see him stand when she did, and she put her hands on his cheeks. For a brief moment she looked at his startled face, searching his eyes for some sign that she wasn't about to make a complete fool of herself. Then she whispered his given name and put her mouth on his.

The kiss was brief and close-mouthed, but she endeavoured to put all her feelings into it, letting her fingers run through the curls at the nape of his neck as she moved her lips slowly over his. When she released his lips, he stared at her, eyes wide with surprise.

Foyle tried to find any proof of deceit in her dark eyes and found only devotion and a hint of apprehension, evidence that while she might seem confident, she was in reality terrified of what she had just dared to do.

"Sam, what… " Flustered, he was at a loss for words. Despite the intimacy he had shared with Sam over the last few weeks, he had never expected to hold her in his arms, to feel her lips on his, and the sensation of both nearly took his breath away, not to mention his mental equilibrium.

The suggestion of nervousness in Sam's eyes grew to fully blown anxiety as she began to pull away from him, stuttering an apology.

Faced with the horrifying prospect of losing the delightful proximity to her, Foyle let her name slip past his lips in something akin to a groan. Forgetting every argument he had ever given himself for not getting closer to his young driver, he reached his arms out and pulled her back to him with trembling hands, capturing her lips in a fervent kiss.

Reassured, Sam revelled in the feeling of his embrace, feeling the heat of his hands on the back of her blouse as he let them roam inside her open cardigan, pressing her against his broad chest. His warm, soft lips moved over hers, his tongue begging entrance to her mouth, and she gave it willingly, a thrill running up and down her spine as his tongue touched hers.

_This is heaven_, she thought blasphemously, unable to imagine a greater joy than this; being held in Christopher Foyle's arms as he kissed her passionately.

His lips left hers and she nearly whimpered at the loss. Then she felt him kiss her throat and she held her breath, leaning her head back to grant him better access.

"Christopher… " she moaned softly as he sucked gently at her pulse point.

The breathy sound of her voice cut through the haze of Foyle's mind. _Sam,_ he realised. This was Sam and he was kissing her, practically ravishing her! Horrified at his own lack of control, he nearly jumped away from her. How could he have let himself overstep that boundary? How could he have taken advantage of her youth and susceptibility?

"Oh, God, Sam, I'm, I'm… " he stuttered helplessly, wanting nothing more than to step back into her arms and stop thinking about everything that might go wrong.

Sam's eyes twinkled as she watched him stammer, warmth spreading through her body.

"I love you," she whispered as she leaned in to silence him. Foyle's heart swelled at her words and he accepted her lips, unable to remember any good reason to leave her warm embrace and loving kisses.

Samantha had often dreamt of this moment, but wondered if either of them was quite ready to carry on as her fantasies always did. Her knowledge of sex was limited to romantic novels, confessional magazines, and what little educational information she had come by in school, supplemented by a married friend's book on marital intimacy.

At the same time that she was nervous, she felt such trust and love for this man that she knew she wanted her first experience to be with him. Her eagerness was outweighing any anxiety with each caress and kiss they shared; if he wanted her now, so be it.

Reluctantly Foyle drew back and hugged her in a more chaste fashion, quaking slightly as he tried to gather his wits enough to communicate with her in a less physical way.

"Sam," his voice was muffled in her soft hair, "how can you love someone who's almost 30 years older? You're so young and energetic and your whole life is ahead of you…"

She drew back to look into his eyes, still maintaining her new-found confidence, still very sure. "Christopher." She said it so firmly that she seemed to instil some of her calm in his heart. He looked steadily back, finally feeling objective enough to listen.

Emotional tears filled her eyes. "Why does anyone love anyone? Partly because they get on well; partly because they have like interests or hobbies; partly because they find each other attractive. But mostly there is no defining it. It just 'is'."

Foyle looked at her admiringly. How could one so young be so spontaneous one moment and so worldly-wise the next? By being Sam, he supposed.

Encouraged by the crinkling smile that was forming in his eyes and on his lips, she bravely added, "Am I presumptuous to fancy that you love me, too?"

He pulled her back in and kissed her slowly—the pressure of his lips very light upon hers at first, then more firm, and then deeply caressing as he felt her respond with hunger. A moan from her throat made him surge with desire, and he tried not to be too awkward in his need to cover every part of her face and neck with kisses.

Foyle murmured her name as his fingers found the clasp of her collar and he began to unbutton her blouse. Sam's hands were in his hair again and then on his back, rubbing up and down the smoothness of the loose-fitting waistcoat he often wore around the house or to fish, searching for the hem of it so that she might reach up beneath his shirt and feel his skin.

He couldn't believe this was happening, and yet, now it was, his doubts about it were rapidly fading. It felt too right—it was not just a rush of relief he was feeling, but a flood of joy.

Sam was ecstatic at the strong warm feel of him, and she helped him remove her sweater as they both glanced around, wondering where this might take them.

His tongue duelled with hers again as she pushed back his waistcoat and began to tug at his tie. Melding her body against his, she could feel his hard excitement against the juncture of her legs, and she was surprised and delighted when he supported her back with one splayed hand and reached beyond her with the other to impulsively yank the cloth from the kitchen table so that all their sturdy supper dishes soon littered the floor.

Her eyes were very wide as they looked into his, and he reflected her expression until they both laughed aloud at his audacity. Then of one accord they fell to removing each other's clothing again until Sam wore only a slip and Foyle his shorts and open shirt.

Now their table was an island in the midst of cast-off garments and dishes, and he lifted her onto it even as he softly nibbled at the so-sensitive spot beneath her jaw line. This caused her to writhe against him with another long groan. She reclined as his hands still grasped her taut little waist, her eyes slitted as she stretched her form invitingly. Dear _God,_ she was beautiful, he thought. His hand made its way beneath the slip to pull aside her knickers and softly explore between her legs, making her pant excitedly.

Later, he thought, slowly sliding the slip up beyond her hips, he would show her all the pleasures he could bring her, slowly and with plenty of loving words in between, but just at this moment his need was so desperate and the message in her eyes so willing… he removed his shorts and poised himself to enter her. Sam's moan had a plea in it, and their eyes met.

"All right, my love?" he whispered.

She nodded and he thrust into her quickly. She realised all at once that he had pushed in and up inside of her, and it had been painless—she had been so thoroughly lubricated by passion and no barrier had presented itself after all. Her eyes were large and trusting as she looked up into his, and he smiled gently, as relieved and happy as she was. He moved deeper into her and she gasped at the sensation, then let her head roll to one side as she made a long passionate sound that sent chills up his spine.

When she woke this morning, Sam wouldn't have dared hope even for the kiss they had shared earlier, and now here she was, trembling as his palm tenderly stroked her breast, feeling his body in hers. Her brow was faintly furrowed with the intensity of what was happening, but she kept wanting to lift up her shoulders just a little so that she could see exactly where they were joined.

In doing so she inadvertently raised one calf nearly to his shoulder; this made Foyle take a sharp inward breath, shutting his eyes tightly. Watching his expressions was almost as wonderful as the ecstasy she was experiencing… Sam smiled happily at the idea that she was giving him pleasure, but he suddenly began to move faster and she had to lie back down and grasp the edges of the table to brace herself.

All at once Samantha began to feel an amazing sensation—almost as if she could rise into the air in flight, if she could only take off—and she was so close…

Her former boss—her dear friend—her lover—held her hips as he delved deeper inside her with each rhythmic push, and suddenly with a stunned cry she felt the lift of leaving the ground and she seemed to hurtle into space for a long, pulsing interval. She never had felt anything like this stupendous release of tension, and she felt tears of wonder warm her eyes.

In only a few moments, Foyle was bending back his head and shuddering so hard that all at once he had to lean forward again over the table, gripping the edges of it. Sam could feel within her the heat of his climax and it thrilled her all over again, but not as much as when his lips found hers and he swallowed her murmuring sigh of his name. 


End file.
